The Lady Has a New Look

I have always been an exhibitionist. I actually spent some time in college trying to find out why, what was the cause?

Insecure perhaps? Oh, that is me. A feeling of being inadequate? Yes, me, too.

Perhaps. Nothing I ever read or studied really fits me. I just am the way I am. Bending over and offering a peek by "accident" gets me hot!

If the object of my attention seems to enjoy it, that is even better. I love to wear skimpy outfits, loose tops, shorts. Sometimes skirts that let too much show, yes, sometimes with nothing underneath.

No one can miss my pubes, they are enormous compared to most women, at least the ones I saw in the showers when I was in school.

Most of the girls had smooth thin slits, I was always jealous of that, cursed with this mass of flesh that sticks out of me. Not even blessed with enough pubic hair to help me cover it.

I was teased to the point where I simply would not shower with the other girls, I often went home from gym class without washing. I would just wash at home.

It didn't help that I never grew breasts, by never I mean I was a pretend "B" cup but I was really an "A". Basically oversensitive nipples on a breastbone.

By the time I was in my 30's I was resigned to it, and I could delight in the small percentage of men who seemed interested.

I got lucky one day, the first time in my life I was ever lucky. I picked up a bum on the street, a class project for my nursing training. Under the dirt and scum was the damndest male on the face of this earth.

Why did I pick him? What was it? I am almost sure it was his eyes, he looked at me and knew every single thing about me.

To this day I do not know what it was that combined to make my Ted into the man he was. I do know that every woman, and I mean EVERY woman who met him wanted him.

Me, too.

Every woman should have a man who starts making love at daybreak, with a touch and a caress, just teases. The day goes on and every word, every touch is a buildup. Each word and comment has a single function, to arouse, finally culminating in the simple act of love. But such sweet love, like biting into the freshest and sweetest of fruits, fully ready and perfect.

I experienced that, I experienced two decades of that. I suspect many never reach that in a lifetime.

One day my man was gone. It wasn't unexpected, but still. There was suddenly a huge hole in my life.

Here I was, single, alone, lost. I tried to die, I tried to be something I was not, I reached for impossible dreams. Then in a last grasp for something, anything, I tried to sacrifice myself for the world. I even failed at that.

My friend Sally made quite a difference, the loneliness of some days is filled with the laughter only two crazy females can have. Sally is a little on the prudish side, I am outgoing.

In short order, Sally got over a lot of that, talk about a late bloomer!

We became fast friends, and we were starting to do things, meet people. Just two girls completely mismatched, clicking with the world around us, somehow clicking with each other.

The odd couple, I guess.

Then that accident! It had been bad enough I managed to find myself on an uneventful trip, off to a crazy foreign land to help people with my learned skills as a Doctor.

We never got there, our safety became the concern. My trip was hotel rooms and airplanes. Then a short ride out into the desert, then back. That was it.

I came home unhappy, tired, out of shape. But Sally, wonderful Sally. Soon we were going out, playing, enjoying life and just having fun.

There had been a long gap from when my husband died and any kind of fun. Sex and relationships of course. The kind one does and finds no fulfillment, really. I had almost decided my world was over, at 51 I was ready.

Yes, Sally. Some kind of understanding of each other was there. We laughed together, talked of everything. We went out and teased men without mercy.

Then that stupid accident. We just wanted Ice Cream, it was hot. I sat and fiddled with the air conditioning, the engine idling. Sally hopped out to go inside, she made a dozen strides. That saved her from lord knows what the outcome could have been. I only got a glimpse of the pickup truck coming.

A cast on my left arm, surgery after surgery trying to save it. It is more metal than bone now, healing slowly and poorly. My left leg, snapped just below the knee, but healing. My face, a cheekbone impacted, nose damaged. Fixed now, a new nose. A nose from my dreams! Gone was the one I always hated, it looked like it belonged somewhere else.

Plus breasts. My God Breasts! Only a woman can understand, I think, I have them! They are perfect, some days I sit in my room and bare them in my mirror just to look.

I want everyone to see them.

There was one small incident while I was in the hospital, at least I think it was an incident. A man came to my room as I lay in that state between awake and dreams. He was a Doctor, I thought. He looked at me, touched me, filled a need in me. Then he was gone.

I thought it was real but now I am not sure. My husband Ted always comes to me in dreams, you see.

This wasn't Ted. I think it was one of the workers there, but I am not sure. Perhaps it was only in my head. I don't know. It was a moment, it was between the shadows in my room, my mind.

I am home now, typing is a struggle. I was using a pencil in the end of the cast to hold the shift key down. I had to stop that, Doctor Tillman removed my wrappings to check. I saw the small shiney spot on my elbow, I knew what that was.

I caught his concerned look, watched as he lanced the spot directly above the implant in my left forearm. Then the IV drips. Healing again now, softer bandages.

Every day, every single day goes on and on. It has only been a few weeks since the accident on the 4th of July, it seems like a lifetime. I know I have weeks, months in fact to go. All of this whirlwind of things happening to me, so many changes, so sudden. It is difficult to deal with it all. At least I get to go home in between the trips to the hospital. Endless hours in a hospital bed are terrible. Trapped with nothing but my thoughts.

Writing lets them out of me. But it is hard to write, left arm unusable yet. Of course I am left handed. The odds are high I now must become right handed.

Yet it is odd how easily we can cope. First I tried just a stick in my teeth to hold the shift key on my computer. But the end would slip, caps locks bumped on, I would have to go back and start over. Or I would hit the control key, then try to figure out where everything went. Some tape wrapped on the end fixed that. I am pegging right along now.

The one high point is when I get my wrappings changed. The one on my left arm is daily, the one on my left leg is weekly. I look forward to that now.

Clothing is obviously a problem, I have dresses that simply wrap. No way can I button or zip anything. Sally got some felcro strips, an easy solution.

I giggled at the first one she made, wondering why I had never thought of that before. It simply wraps over my shoulder and sticks together at the side. I just reach over with my good right arm and tug, and I am naked. Think of all the opportunities for "accidents." Lol.

One of the nurses does the changings. Usually it is one of the women but there are two male nurses on staff. One man is heavyset, the other younger and tall. Both seem eager to do the dressings. The younger man tried to use a light drape over me, I told him to not bother. After all, I am a Doctor, like that makes any difference.

Both of them look at my breasts without fail, I have to bare them to get the dress off my shoulder. Bandages around my ribs mean no undergarment is convenient.

The dress just slips apart, the overly large sleeves allow it to slide off my left arm easily. I delight in watching them remove the wrap, trying to look at just my arm and failing. By the 3rd day all pretense was gone, they both had me figured out.

The heavyset nurse left the curtain open one day. I could see him glancing at me to check my reaction. I just sat there, bare to the waist, my wrap pulled modestly over my lap. People were going up and down the hallway, some staff, some patients. Most would glance in and then look quickly away. One older man went back and forth several times, slowly. Finally he caught my eye, I smiled sweetly.

Even the female nurses look. A few have commented, mentioning how well that turned out. I sit there excited, my nipples like little buttons.

Then the cast on my leg. The dress comes open and up, I am bare of course. Again, no undergarment I own will go over the cast on my leg. The cast comes almost all the way to my groin. I love to watch their eyes as I open my legs to allow access. I know my labia is obvious, swollen. I see their eyes glance, then try to look away, then back. I am dripping by the time they are done. They both always close the curtain for the lower cast. I wish they wouldn't but I say nothing.

Delightful. I know I never have to wait, without fail Sally wheels me into the waiting room and one of the nurses appears.

Every day. One day the heavyset male nurse, I think his name is Arthur, was doing my leg bandages. He bumped against my crotch with the back of his hand, apologized. I shuddered and almost orgasmed. I told him it was all right, he just grinned. Now he does it quite a bit, I let him. I like the innocent touch.

Fantasies of what to say to encourage him swirl in my mind. "I am sore there from the chafing, could you...?" No, not quite right. I wish I knew just what to say that sounds innocent. Everything I have thought of so far sounds blatant, so I just keep quiet and let them work.

Arthur touches me more every day, I glance down and see the back of his glove shiny with my dampness. I am sure he knows, he goes farther and farther each time.

The younger nurse is much more careful, but he looks. Some days I get the women nurses, they look at me too. Sundays and Mondays are always the women.

Funny how such a silly act makes me feel alive. The rest of the time is simply hours into days, the clock ticks on and on, I wait to heal.

I can stand, but I can't walk or drive. I was worried about my Corvette in Reno. I hired a crew to move it. I could have hired a driver cheaper but I had it transported instead.

I managed to hobble to the window and watch them put it into my garage. Peace somehow in that, it is like now I am finally really home. I signed the delivery papers with my right hand. I almost giggled as I watched the delivery man sneak a look down the front of my open robe. I had to struggle with my signature, writing with my right hand is completely odd to me.

The delivery man had a huge grin as he collected the papers and left, with a nice, "Thank you, Miss."

It hit me, he likely meant that, not in kindness as a deference to my age. My face is smoothing, the black eyes are almost gone. The swelling is in just a couple of places. I can see in the mirror that I look closer to 35 than my real 51 years.

I grinned inwardly as I closed the door, knowing his interest. I thought that maybe I would like this new me.

Please understand that this is being written over a long period. I type for perhaps half an hour, then I need to stop. Mostly because my jaw begins to hurt from holding the stick to press the shift key.

There is a new Doctor attending me now, he is Doctor Terry Avers. It actually is great because he was in several of my classes when we went to school.

I delighted in seeing him, he didn't even recognize me. I saw the confusion on his face, he was sure he knew who I was from the paperwork but the person greeting him when he came in my room the first time was someone he didn't expect.

"Damn fine job!" he had mumbled, as he realized it really was me. Then he went to work. No point in doing anything with Terry, I was aware he is gay.

Terry made several comments about my looks and new shape. I know I look at myself in the mirror, I don't even recognize the person looking back.

Terry specializes in cases like mine, major reconstruction and infections that result. Staph, of course. But I was lucky, tests showed the spot on my elbow to be a very common mellow treatable kind. The pencil I had stuck in the end of my cast to hold the shift key caused the cast to rub as I raised my arm. That was all it took for the infection to set in. Medications knocked it out in just days, so far no sign of returning.

My arm is starting to ache now, though. No more locals, I rely on pills. I use them very sparingly, mostly only when I need to sleep, the pain keeps me awake.

Then Sally and I found out about insurance companies. The Van is completely ruined of course. It only had 8000 miles. They insisted on getting a "like" replacement. Sally looked the replacement over and threw a fit. 74,000 miles, rattles, the seats are some cheap material instead of my cushy ones. The lock on the side door is broken. There are chips in the paint, even some dent in the grill.

"Oh that can all be fixed!" the agent said with a big smile. I just sat on the couch.

Sally told him to take it back, it wasn't acceptable. But it still sits in the yard. They claim I signed off on the papers but I don't remember any of that. It was at the hospital. Let the lawyers handle that, I guess. The tiny little Honda Sally drives won't do it, I can get in it but I can't sit comfortably with this cast.

I called my friend at the downtown dealership and told him to bring us a new one. His name is Harold, Ted bought the first Z-06 Corvette from him. That one got wrecked too, and I got the 2nd one, the one I have now. There was no problem at all that time. I am sure the insurance man was afraid to mess with Ted, a very large and physical looking man.

Now they are dealing with a single woman hurt and on meds, so easy to take advantage. We shall see.

Harold showed up with the Van, a nice pretty blue color. It has some new kind of engine, Sally drove it around. She says it is smooth as silk and has lots of power. I sat and chatted with Harold and the young driver while Sally fiddled with the vehicle.

In no time I realized the younger man was glancing down at my chest, I was wearing a housecoat pulled over my left shoulder, my arm in the right sleeve. Naked as a jaybird underneath of course.

Then Harold commented, first he showed concern about my being all banged up. Then his eyes dropped to my breasts, covered loosely by the robe but open for my left arm to protrude.

I smiled.

"Yes, I had them done."

"You sure look different."

"Yes, they had to do some repairs to my face too."

"Well, you look 25!" he lied.

I laughed.

"40 maybe."

The younger man was interested, he kept staring down at my breasts. I knew the gap in my robe showed some flesh, nothing too much though.